Escape
by williz
Summary: Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann have reached a standstill in their tedious relationship. When Will sees a chance to try something new and break out of the repetitive romance, will he take it?


**Escape**

**Author: williz**

**Summary: **William Turner and Elizabeth Swann have reached a standstill in their relationship. When an opportunity arises to perhaps find escape from the drudgery of his repetitive life with Elizabeth, will he take it?

**Disclaimer: **You know, I hate doing these things. It's so repetitive. I have to do it EVERY TIME. EVERY TIME! Over and over! It's like jury duty. Where every damn year, you get that letter saying "Woops jury duty! Your life sucks!" and you KNOW they don't need you anymore than they need anyone else, but they STILL contact you. And you STILL have to go. Or you get arrested.

It's just like this disclaimer.

Oh P.S. I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters. Happy, judicial system? HUH?

* * *

The loud sizzle of the bacon shocked the young man away from the window. Finally, a sunny day in Exeter and he was trapped inside. He would have to work a ten hour shift today, from noon until ten at night. God, he didn't want to go to work. His reason padded through the hallway and emerged into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Morning," she mumbled, plopping down at the bar before him, leaning over to sniff the bacon.

"Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Like a baby."

Will fought back the urge to snort at her answer. As if she usually didn't sleep like a baby. He was usually the one awake and the sheets would be bundled around her as he shivered to death.

"Good."

Silence loomed between them as he grabbed the tongs from beside the frying pan and turned the bacon over. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she reached over and took the spatula from the counter, stirring the eggs a bit more. "So when do you go to work?" She set the spatula down and wrapped his white button up shirt tighter around her frame.

Will smiled up at her, turning over the bacon again. "Noon. What are you doing today?"

She just shrugged, looking out of the window. "I don't have anything to do. I might just…read."

"It's a beautiful day! Go to the park!" He turned and went to the cabinet, pulling two plates out and filling them both with eggs and bacon.

"Mm, I don't really want to."

"Ok." Will shook his head as he set the plates on the butcher block. He picked up his plate and went to the table. He turned when he saw that Elizabeth didn't join him. "You eating breakfast?"

"Um, yeah." She seemed to pause, her eyes flitting to the food he had prepared, then to the floor beneath her bare feet. "Yeah, I'm eating." She grabbed her plate and sat in her chair, the same chair she always sat in when he made food. The same food he always made for breakfast. "I was thinking tomorrow we could have pancakes."

Will looked up, watching her pick at her food slowly. "Well, yeah…but I'm not too good with pancakes. I usually make them too…"

"I can make pancakes."

There was another long silence between them, with Elizabeth still picking at the eggs and Will's dark eyes on her, trying to gage her look. "Oh," he said, simply. "Ok."

A few minutes later, Will stood, his plate empty, and looked to Elizabeth. "Are—are you done with that?"

She had barely touched it. Was it his cooking? Was she maybe tired of it? Was she sick? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that something was wrong with Elizabeth lately…or maybe something was wrong with him.

"No," she said. She smiled at him fleetingly, so he nodded and put his dishes away, cleaned the pans, and quickly left the kitchen to dress for work. Not a word was said in those fifteen minutes, and not once did Will see Elizabeth bring a bite of his food to her lips.

For a few weeks now, Will had noticed something different in their relationship. Awkwardness. All of the things he used to love, the way she would wear his white dress shirts the mornings after she woke up in his bed, claiming she liked wearing his scent in the morning.

He loved the swoop of her accent, how posh and upper-class it sounded. No matter what she said, it always sounded intelligent, classy, dignified.

Now, he found he was annoyed that the shirt she wore was just cleaned and he would have to wear it with the wrinkles she had put in it from lying in his bed with it on. He was annoyed with how clipped and know-it-all her tone was lately. As if she knew she was better than him. Not that he didn't know it as well.

She was from a very well-off London based family, whereas he was raised in Exeter with just enough money to get him through college, thanks to the farm he worked with his parents before their deaths. Now it was just him, in the heart of the city, in his nice apartment that he bought with the money he made at his nice job. And here was Elizabeth, his gorgeous, perfect girlfriend, who just happened to be visiting Exeter with her father the day they met.

Oddly enough, when she fell in love with Will, she seemingly fell in love with the small Exeter city as well, where there were farms and cities together, the fertile land with stone and brick buildings and roads built atop it.

He made good money, yes, but he wasn't a large city boy. Elizabeth was most definitely the epitome of a city girl. She hated driving and preferred public transit like buses, taxis…the Tube. London…pretty much.

The way she spoke sometimes belied his fear that she was commenting on the way he was raised, the type of life he enjoyed, minus the loud screeching of taxis, the loud bang of violence that riddled the big city streets, the London streets.

Here, there was peace and solitude.

This wasn't the only thing he had been noticing as of late.

When he kissed her, it was just a kiss. When they held each other, their fingers were slack and their bodies seemed not to fit perfectly anymore. Like when you are doing a puzzle and you force two pieces together that don't go together, but you leave it for awhile because you're tired of looking for the right piece. You don't want to separate the pieces because you are so sure they really go together.

When they had sex, it was fleeting, quick, and, while still enjoyable, completely passionless.

Will was positive he was still in love with Elizabeth, but they had now been dating for a year and a half. Since he was twenty two years old, they had been almost inseparable, but now…now that he was almost twenty four, now that she had spent almost every night of every week (despite having her own apartment) in his bed, he felt as if what they had started with was fading.

From that first date, their relationship had prospered and grown, flourished as they spent more time together, learned more about each other. They made love constantly in the beginning of their relationship, went everywhere, saw everything. True, fulfilling, companionable love that would last forever. And then, just a few weeks ago, it seemed as if it stopped expanding. All of a sudden, they were stuck.

Nothing was new anymore. Nothing was different. Will wondered for a moment whether this was what marriage was like. You have no mystery or secrets. You know every little thing about that other person. Nothing surprises you anymore.

The passion is gone. Lust is no longer a part of your connection. There no longer _is_ a connection, but now just a molding, as if they were now one being, but in a completely negative way.

Will left the kitchen and went through his narrow hallway to the room at the end, pushing his wooden door open with a creak and looking at the bed. The sheets were huddled to one side of the bed, the side Elizabeth usually occupied. Rubbing his face, he padded over to the mirror of his armoire. Tucked into the frame of the mirror was a small photograph of Elizabeth. Her hair was slightly darker, kinkier, and fun. Her forest green bikini top was visible through the thin t-shirt Will still had folded up in his drawer, The Clash sulking up from the pattern. Her head was thrown back slightly, her wide grin white as snow and her beautiful brown eyes bright as the sun.

Will remembered why he put that picture there.

He cherished the sound of his Elizabeth's laughter. It was so melodic, but still slightly dorky in an adorable way. He especially loved her laugh after he teased her, because a facetious 'shut up' would be intermixed into it.

The picture sent her laughter ringing through him.

But this morning, as hard as he listened, he did not hear her laughter. He heard her talking to her father on his phone in the kitchen, but not her laughter. And it killed him.

As he pulled his trousers on and buckled them, his mind was exploding with all sorts of thoughts and feelings.

Elizabeth was possibly the woman of his dreams, that one thing he found that he could always count on to be there, through thick and thin. One of the reasons Will fell so deeply for her was that he could spend countless hours with her and always have something to talk about, never tiring of the arch of her eyebrow, the twinkle of her voice, her old-fashioned, thin features of immeasurable beauty.

But as he looked at her picture, heard her speaking to her father about something or other she would do today in the city (it bothered him that he really didn't care too much about _what _she did in the city), he wondered if maybe she wasn't the one. He wondered if they weren't meant to be lovers, but friends.

Never in his life could he imagine separating from Elizabeth Swann, but was he still _in love_?

"Will…"

He spun. She was standing behind him, her eyebrow arched, her smirk lifting one side of her lips. She held the phone to her shoulder, her soft, flawless hand covering the mouthpiece of the cordless. "Dad wants to know if we would like to have dinner next Saturday." Her voice held something Will couldn't distinguish. Was it reluctance? Annoyance? He couldn't tell.

Licking his lips and rubbing the back of his head, he stammered, "Uh…well…uh, what time?"

She paused, then put her mouth to the phone, "Daddy, what time?" She paused again, then looked up at Will through her eyelashes. "About 7:30…he's coming down here."

"Sounds fine. I'll write it down."

She nodded, leaving the room, leaving Will standing in the same position he had been in for the last ten minutes.

What's a boy to do?

* * *

"Morning, love." He walked up behind Elizabeth and kissed her cheek.

She jumped, spreading a small line of flesh-colored pancake batter along the counter. "God…" The young woman looked up at Will sheepishly and giggled. "Sorry, I didn't hear you." She turned back to the breakfast and continued cooking it. "I'll get the mess later."

"Ok…" Will eyed her in question, then shrugged, walking back to the kitchen table and grabbing the morning paper. "Have you seen the paper yet this morning?"

He heard a clang and looked up to find his girlfriend picking the spatula up from his kitchen floor. Standing, the newspaper clutched in his hand, he peeked over the bar and chuckled. "Lizzie, you ok? You seem jumpy."

"I'm fine," she said, shrugging. "Just a bit clumsy this morning…I guess."

"Alright," he acquiesced. Sitting back down, he opened the paper. "Like I said, see the paper this morning? Anything interesting?"

"Nothing sensational," she said. "This _is_ Exeter."

Ignoring her comment, he opened the paper, skipping the opinion page. Stupid blighters always sent in the most idiotic arguments to the papers, about roosters or people having too many of this or that, or the government is reverting back to socialism. Utter crap. Not an ounce of interest in it.

Ah, the advertisements. Will always liked to look at the advertisements. As a student with a minor in sociology(his major mostly stemmed in business), Will Turner always enjoyed picking apart the advertisements for which people lied and which people told the truth. It was always interesting and sometimes pretty comical.

His eyes flicked up to Elizabeth as she expertly flipped one of her homemade pancakes, her gaze focused on her job, not even one meeting his. Then he went back to the ads.

_Male, 28. __Average build.  
__Likes horseback riding and outdoors activities.  
__Looking for young woman, slim. _

He's probably about 50 years old, fat, hates the outdoors, and _ah_ some truth! He wants a young, slim woman. Don't they all? Will scoffed to himself.

He looked down at another add.

_Female, 37. 5'1" of average weight.  
__Looking for romance and longevity.  
__No preferences in appearance._

Will sobered immediately. He felt as if the truth was more palpable for this woman than many of the ads he had seen. And it left him slightly sad. Here he was, only 23 years old, sitting at a nice table and reading the paper, with a beautiful, independent woman making him pancakes. He had the reassurance of her number in his cell, knowing that he would see her again tonight when his internship was over for the day.

This woman was nearing 40 years of age and alone. Looking for romance and longevity.

After about ten minutes and many advertisements later, Elizabeth set the steaming plate of pancakes down before him, putting his plate in front of him and setting the butter and maple syrup down as well. "Dig in."

"Thanks," he said, peaking over the paper to smile at her, receiving nothing in return as she peered at the back side of what he was reading, her hands fidgeting with the silverware beside her plate, as if her mind was elsewhere. "You ok, Lizzie?" He raised an eyebrow in concern, folding the paper once and holding it away from him so that he could see her.

"I'm fine," she said. "Tired, maybe."

"Alright…you sure?"

"Mhm." She took a sip of her milk, then went to her pancakes again.

"Okay." Will opened the ads again, wanting to read one more before he began his breakfast. As he started to smell the beautiful aroma of pancakes, his eyes caught on a small advert in the corner of the page.

_Female, 20s.  
__True love. Is it normal  
is it serious, is it practical?  
What does the world get from two people  
who exist in a world of their own?_

Below was an email address, a way to contact her.

"Will."

He jumped, looking up at Elizabeth. "Yes, love?"

"I asked if you could pass the butter."

"Of course." He passed it to her and forced his eyes to the editorials on the next page, but could not help his gaze straying to the words again. "True Love" by Wislawa Szymborska. Will remembered the first time he had read those words. A small smile graced his features as he remembered the soft hands turning the page, lips at his ear.

_Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there's no such thing. Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die._

Will shook his head, swallowing loudly and pushing the memories back from his mind. Who was this girl? Shutting the paper, he set it beside his plate and prepared his breakfast, eating it quickly and standing, still guzzling down his milk. "Well, I'm off. Will I see you tonight?"

"No, I actually have a lot of work to do at the apartment. Feed my fish. You know." She gave him a small smile and leaned her head up when Will bent to kiss her lips.

"Love you," he said as he walked away.

"Mm."

* * *

The name sat in the "To:" box, almost blurring his vision he stared so hard at it. He hit the back space on his keyboard, putting his face in his hands and groaning.

This was wrong.

Why was it wrong, though?

He had sat in front of his laptop for two hours now, the "New Message" box up on his screen the entire time. He would do his dissertation above it every once in awhile, but found his mind distracted, to the point where he would type "True Love" beneath his business jargon, erase it, and continue his work. Then he'd click back to the email, type her address in…stare at it…erase it again.

Elizabeth Swann was beautiful, intelligent, sweet, funny…comfortable. There it was. She was comfortable. He knew he would always have her if he wanted her. That was their relationship. She would always be here and her arms would always be open, her lips always tasting sweet.

She was comfortable. He could live the rest of his life with her, he knew. But the problem was that he couldn't help thinking that maybe…maybe there _was_ someone else out there for him. Someone who could look at a painting and see it as more than just paint, more than a sunset or rolling hills. Someone who could read a poem and feel the pain, the joy, the love in their bones as the words entered their heart.

The advertisement girl.

If he didn't contact her, would he regret it the rest of his life? He wasn't so sure. And it was disconcerting to him.

He would marry Elizabeth in a few years, and they would have children. She would cuddle in his arms at night and they would smile at each other. And when she fell asleep, her arms still bent against his bare chest, he would quietly sneak out of bed and open his desk drawer, removing the bottom to reveal a secret compartment, in which was a small torn out piece of an old, browning newspaper.

_True love. Is it normal  
is it serious, is it practical?  
What does the world get from two people  
who exist in a world of their own?_

"Shit!" He cursed, grabbing the screen and starting to shut the computer. But he stopped. Opening it again, he typed the advert woman's email address again and went one step further, clicking the message box.

_Look at the happy couple.  
Couldn't they at least try to hide it,  
fake a little depression for their friends' sake?_

_Meet me Friday. Gerard's. 7:00._

Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.

Did he just hit send? Did he just send it?!

_Your message has been sent!_

"Shit!" He swore again, trying to see if he could find an undo button, a cancel email button.

There wasn't.

Groaning again, he shut his computer and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He felt like a liar, a cheat.

Guilt flooded over him like a tidal wave, pulling him into an even larger sea of guilt, drowning him slowly.

God, what had he done?! Elizabeth was in her apartment at this very moment, probably cuddled into her pillow, her book in her hands. Or perhaps she was sitting on her computer as he was, checking her email, playing her silly online board games or craps.

Standing from his seat at the desk in his room, he stretched, unplugging his laptop and walking to his armoire to look at the bags under his eyes. Beside his face in the mirror, staring back at him was Elizabeth, in her joyous laughter, the laughter he couldn't hear anymore when he peered at her genuinely tickled features.

He reached up, his fingers running over the pointed corner of the photograph, before he plucked it from the frame of the mirror and turned, going directly to his bed and pulling the covers back. He climbed into bed and stared at her picture some more, willing, _forcing_ her laughter to sneak into his mind.

But it didn't.

He turned the light off, putting the picture on his bedside desk, then curled into his covers. God, if Elizabeth ever found out, she would kill him. He would lose her.

He couldn't lose her. Not ever.

* * *

_Gerard's Restaurant._

Will looked up to his right at the old-fashioned clock in the street beside the streetlight. He had twenty minutes until 7:00, the time he told the mystery woman to meet him. The past few days, he fought with himself to not check his email. He wasn't going to go through with it. He couldn't possibly.

Three times he had thrown the paper into his recycle bin, and not even thirty seconds later, he would reappear, pulling it out and peering at the advertisement again. At least three times a day, he found himself checking his email address…and not once was it his work email. He had received nothing from the advert woman.

As he stood in the chilly Exeter night, the dark hair he had worked so hard on earlier in the mirror fell over his eyes. Pushing it back, he looked up at the restaurant's name again, then back to the clock.

What if he just waited outside and watched for any young woman that could possibly be her? You know, just see what she looks like and jet? No, that wasn't fair. But then again, what if he went inside and waited for her and she didn't come? Then he would feel like a cheating, lying bastard…_and_ lame!

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, but his feet suddenly felt as if they were made of lead. Each step he took was smaller than the last until he was seemingly going backwards. _Jesus Christ_, he thought to himself. _Be a man, Will._

As he got to the door, a man opened it for him, an overly friendly "Welcome, sir!" spouting from his grinning mouth. Will took one look at him, his eyes wide, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight, and turned, walking back to his safety area beside the street clock.

The host raised an eyebrow and just stepped back inside, shrugging at his coworker behind him. Will opened his mouth to apologize, but just shut it, slumping back against the clock. Peering up, he saw that ten minutes had passed.

In ten minutes, she would or would not show up. Then what would he do?! He reached up and wiped his hand down his face, groaning. What did he get himself into?

Again, his heavy feet moved him close to the door. The host just looked at him through the perfectly clean, seemingly nonexistent glass, poised to open it, but almost afraid to do so. Will shrugged apologetically and set his hand to the handle, pulling it open.

One foot crossed onto the welcome mat and he stopped, peering out into the darkness of the street again. All he could think of was that he was dating someone. He was in love with a beautiful girl, a perfect girl, the girl who may well be the one, and all he could think was that maybe…just _maybe_…this would come to be something good. Maybe this girl _was_ the one…and he wouldn't regret not doing this the rest of his life.

A picture crossed his mind of a future with Elizabeth, the newspaper in the bottom of his desk, his heart throbbing as he realizes there is a woman somewhere with a family of her own, a woman who may have made him happier…maybe he would have made her happier than the man she was with now.

And what of Elizabeth? What if there was someone who could take care of her better than him? Some man that was made for her, someone Will kept her from? When he shook his head, he noticed that he was inside, standing behind a well-dressed couple at the front desk. As they were led away by the hostess, the young host from before came and grinned at Will again.

"Welcome to _Gerard's_, sir! What can I do for you?"

"Uh…reservation."

The man stared at him. When Will didn't continue, he smiled fleetingly and cleared his throat. "Name, sir?"

"Oh, Will."

"Uh…alright." He looked down at his list. "Right…this way sir…"

Grabbing two menus, he flashed one more smile at Will and walked into the throngs of tables. It took him a few moments, but he turned to look and see if Will followed. In fact, the young man was staring straight ahead of him, a stricken look on his face.

"Sir?"

Will shook himself. _Oh Jesus, what am I doing?_ He couldn't help but follow the host.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir. Shall I tell your companion where you are when they arrive?"

"Uh, yes…please."

"As you wish." He bowed and disappeared back to his place at the front desk, leaving Will alone at the small round table in the corner. He looked down at the menu below him and his stomach churned. How could he sit and eat while Elizabeth was somewhere, thinking he had work piled on his desk, swamped in his room?

The more he sat and thought, the more he felt the sweat dripping down his neck, the more uncomfortable his red cushioned chair felt beneath him, and the itchier his suit was. God how he wished he was home suddenly, how he wished he was with Elizabeth!

Peering up at the intricate wall clock, he saw that it was one minute until 7:00. She would arrive in one minute. (That is, assuming she would be directly on time.)

Elizabeth was pompous about always being on time to everything.

He cleared his throat, and opened his menu, but found he couldn't keep from straying his eyes to the front door. Every time he heard them open, his head spun, eyes wide.

"Sir?"

Will's head snapped. "Yes!" He said loudly, causing the maitre-de to jump slightly. "I—sorry."

"Would you like anything to drink while you wait for your other party?" The kindly middle aged man smiled.

"Uh…yes, actually. Just some ice water please. Some really cold ice water." _So that I can throw it over my head._

"As you wish." The man disappeared, and Will turned back to the door.

Standing at the podium in the front was the young man, talking to a young woman whose back was to him. The plant next to the column a few feet in front of him covered his view of her. She had on a dark red cocktail dress that stopped mid-calf.

His heart was racing. He thought of standing up, but no. No, he couldn't. Maybe he should be suave and stay seated, act like he didn't know why she was here. Like James Bond. Be smooth, calculated.

_Turner. William Turner._

He looked up from the burgundy table cloth and his heart stopped.

He knew her smile in an instant. He knew the curve of her face.

William Turner stood from the table and turned to her, watching as she weaved through the tables, her eyes peering about the room before they rested directly on him. She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide, her lips opening in her shock.

Her lips closed in a pout and she tilted her head, her elegant hair flopping to the side as she continued towards him, her small handbag clutched tightly in her fingers. Her lips twitched in a small smile as her eyes sparkled, all-knowing.

"Ah…it's you."

Shaking his head, his eyes just as wide as hers, he stepped closer. With a small, unreadable smile, she reached out and took his hand, pulling him back to the table. He went to her chair and helped her, pushing her in as he sat across from her. Realizing he was too far away, he scooted closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Will…" Her pouted lips opened, then closed again, before she continued. "…what are we doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same."

They met each other's gaze for awhile, before Elizabeth spoke again. "Is there a reason why you happened to email a woman about a date? A woman who was not me?"

"She _was_ you!"

"That's not the point," she whispered through her teeth, leaning closer.

"And what of you?"

"_Me_?!"

"Yes, you! _I_ didn't put a dating advert in the Exeter paper this a few days ago. _I _wasn't the one who attempted to find another person to date. That was all you."

"Sh!" She hissed, seeing some people turn their heads towards them, curiously. Leaning even closer, her dark eyes flashing, she whispered, "You _answered _it without knowing it was me!"

"I can't help that you put an advert in the paper, looking for some other guy when I am right in front of you." He leaned forward again, his nose only an inch from hers.

"Well, why were _you_ looking in the personal ads in the first place to see it, hm?" She sat back, pleased with herself, her lips in a slight smirk.

"Look, I don't have anything to say for my behavior. I _always_ read the personal ads, and yours just…drew my attention. But—But I didn't know it was yours and…" His eyes flitted around the restaurant. If Elizabeth hadn't posted the personal ad in the first place, none of this would have happened.

"This isn't just about me, Will. It's about _both_ of us! You are just as guilty in this as I am, and you know it. So get off your high horse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Yes, I put an ad in the paper. I wanted to see if I would get a response. I obviously did. So what of it?"

"You're dating _me_! That's what of it!"

"And _you_ are dating _me_! That didn't stop you from answering it!"

"I wouldn't have answered it if you had given me reason not to!" He shot back, but immediately he regretted it. Will felt his heart plummet as her frustration melted into a sort of disappointment. It was quickly masked by anger.

Her hand shot to the table and immediately, Will felt a cool liquid splash violently against his face. He shut his eyes and just sat there, hearing a shaky "Go to hell" before the clicking of heels leaving him.

When he opened his eyes, only the short vision of a red skirt disappearing behind the wall outside remained of his Elizabeth, along with the dull throbbing of his broken heart. She had written the advertisement, looking for a way to be rid of him.

And yet, while he answered the ad, not knowing it was hers, the fact that she posted one at all tore him to shreds.

"Can I get you…a towel, sir?" The waiter asked, fidgeting beside Will. The young man looked up and smiled, before standing.

"Uh…no…I'm terribly sorry about all of this. I'll pay for any disruption this caused your business."

A man in a tuxedo stepped up to Will, setting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Nonsense." Will figured he was the manager, when he turned to the waiter and addressed him. "Come, Phillip, get a cloth and clean this up." Turning back to Will, he added. "Don't worry, son. Get you home."

"Thank you. I apologize again."

He walked through the throngs of staring people, embarrassment burning at his cheeks. As he stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air hit his damp face and he shivered. Running his hands over his head, he swore loudly, gritting his teeth and walking down the sidewalk.

His feet hit the hard cement beneath them brutally, his cheeks red and his hair mussed. This was the worst night of his life, and for some reason, all he could think about was that damn advert.

_Female, 20s._

"Shit!" He cursed, walking faster, his legs pumping madly, his breath rapidly exiting his lips with each step.

_True love._

He stopped and dropped his chin to his chest, feeling as though his heart was stopping, as though it refused to beat. He stumbled sideways into the brick wall and breathed out loudly, turning his face into the arm that supported him against the building. As he evened out his breathing, he felt his heart beat return, but with it came a pain. A deep, searing pain.

He walked further along the sidewalk, further and further.

The dark buildings looming over him suddenly seemed to flit by, like mirages pounding on his brain. He saw car after car pass. Blues, yellows, blacks, reds, champagnes.

_True love. Is it really necessary?  
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,  
like a scandal in Life's highest circles._

How did Elizabeth Swann know the phrases of his most treasured poem, the poem his mother would read to him when he was a boy? He had never told her about it. In fact, he had never discussed poetry with her. Or literature. Or art.

What if she was in love with J.M.W. Turner's artwork as well? And he had never known.

This wasn't a Robert Frost poem, or some offbeat Donne poem. It was Wislawa Szymborska.

He looked up from where he squinted at the damp cement beneath his beautiful, polished black shoes, and saw the park that resided just a block from the apartment he lived in. The apartment with a queen-sized bed. And a bathroom that had two toothbrushes, one with a red handle, another with a dark green handle. Two sticks of deodorant.

There was a loofa hanging on his shower head. A pink loofa.

Elizabeth's loofa.

He haphazardly crossed the street, not waiting for any lights. But this was Exeter. And it was 9:30 at night. On a Friday. Everybody was either at the club already or at home, cuddling with his or her family.

Normally, he would be at home with Elizabeth. They would be watching some old movie or other, usually some film noir. And he would massage her feet, or he would lie with his head nuzzled in her lap while she stroked his hair.

He felt a guilt rise in his stomach, but more than that, it was pure pain. That advertisement had been a plea for another man that wasn't him. She wanted someone else.

And while he tried to comfort himself by using the fact that he had answered the advertisement, he couldn't help remembering _she_ had put the ad out. _She_ wanted someone else.

It wasn't fair for him to think she hadn't the right to look for someone new, but he did. And that wasn't it at all. It was just the thought that she perhaps imagined someone out there that might be her true love.

Her true love.

Hadn't they proved now that they were each other's true love?

She had put this anonymous ad out. And he had answered it.

But no, he had ruined it. _They_ had ruined it. By being too curious, too questioning.

He was so content with her, and while he hadn't been ridiculously happy…he was happy all the same. Why couldn't he just submit to it?

Why couldn't _she_?

He dragged his feet along the gravel path, surrounded by beautiful trees and grass, then slumped down onto a newly painted wooden bench. He dropped his face into his hands. He wanted her back. She was the love of his life…he wasn't even twenty four yet, and he already knew.

It disgusted him that he needed this joint act of half-infidelity to see it clearly. That she was meant for him and he for her.

_True love. Is it normal  
is it serious, is it practical?  
What does the world get from two people  
who exist in a world of their own?_

He heard the crunching of gravel beside him. Who gave a bleeding damn about what the world gets from two people in love? If they exist in a world of their own, they don't need anyone else.

They only need each other.

A wry smile set on his face as he ignored further sounds of that person's movement along the pathway. His eyes still buried in his palms, he thought back to Elizabeth's nervousness that morning he read the ad. Of course…she had been feeling just as guilty as he did after he pressed send on that fateful day.

She must have known the ad had made it into the newspaper.

"You know, I never would have done it if I wasn't so unsure about us."

Will looked up, his eyes slightly blurry from being pressed into his hands. There she stood, small black smudges of her eye makeup beneath her eyes. She wrung her purse in her hands and shrugged.

"Likewise, I wouldn't have answered it." His voice was small and reluctant…but it had to be said. He knew it had to be said. "But my love for you never wavered once. I couldn't keep my mind off of you."

She smiled a little, coming closer and looking down at him. "I stood there staring at the mailbox at the post office on Main. You know, that little slot you slip your mail through? And I couldn't decide. Either I slid it in…or I threw it away." A tear leaked from her eye and began trailing slowly down her cheek. Despite its movement down her face in his peripheral, he couldn't take his eyes from hers, as they sparkled moistly in the lamplight.

"And the next thing I knew, my fingers were pushing it through and it was gone. I stood in that same spot, trying to figure out if I could maybe take it back out. I hated myself. But I just couldn't get this picture out of my head: Everyday I would wake up and come in the kitchen to find you and your eggs. And it was so monotonous. So repetitive."

She bit her lip as he patted the bench beside him. Sitting, she peered sideways at the man she loved.

"This is so strange. So funny and strange. I feel as though I should be laughing at the irony of all this. But I'm not." Will shook his head numbly. "I sat at my laptop for hours, switching from my dissertation to the email." He felt the soft touch of her hand on his. It warmed him greatly. Perhaps she might understand his turmoil.

After another few minutes of holding hands and looking down at the cobblestone ground beneath them, Will finally glanced up at her. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth." He swallowed loudly. "And not just for this advertisement business, but everything."

Her fingers slid up his wrist beneath the sleeve of his coat, and then she slid over, a few inches closer to Will. "So am I."

"Do you think this happens to most couples?"

Elizabeth smirked. _Not every couple goes through something _exactly_ like this, no._ "Probably not."

Will chuckled slightly. "No, I didn't mean that." What _did_ he mean? He felt as though his explanation was caught in the web that grew in his throat when he saw Elizabeth walk towards him in the restaurant.

"What?" She breathed, leaning close, trying to urge him to continue. That was one thing she _hadn't_ been tired of. Other men had spoken to her boldly, questioned her, even judged her, without another thought. But Will Turner was the exact opposite. He took care to find just the right words. And sometimes he would open and close his mouth rather like a guppy, or he would blush (even with her), even stutter.

"Will," she probed, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "Listen, the only thing I really want you to know is that I put that advertisement in the paper not because I don't love anymore. Because I do. With everything in me, I do. But everything just became the same. Same this, same that. Always the same. Almost like…" Now _she_ was the one fighting for words.

"Like we're married," Will answered, watching a crow a few feet away, pummeling the soft grass with its beak.

She looks straight at him, her eyes wider. "Yes. Yes, exactly. And I love you. And if you're the one for me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I…I didn't know if you were the one."

Didn't? Will looked at her and smiled slightly. She used the past tense and it sent his heart humping madly in his chest. Maybe this wasn't the end. She already admitted she still loved him.

As much as it hurt when he found out she had inserted the letter he answered, he was incandescently overjoyed. It meant only one thing. She _was_ the one. She had to be. His fingers were itching to feel her skin and his arm muscles tensed as he fought against the urge to wrap her up. The fact that she was shivering every so often wasn't helping.

Elizabeth caught his smile and immediately knew precisely what he was thinking. But she just blinked at him. The connection between them was so strong now. They had both lied to the other; both went around the other's back. But they had looked for the same thing: a chance to find something else.

At least, in her mind, she had. William Turner wasn't as perfect as she had always thought. He was irresistibly good-looking, dressed very well (for a straight man), was always kind to her father and especially to her, cooked for her on occasion, was great in bed, and…what else? Well, nothing else.

She realized she had never asked him about his past. And while they spent all of their free-time together, they stayed in their apartments together. Or had dinner somewhere. Obviously Will enjoyed poetry, and she had seen a book or two in his bookshelf with poetry, but she just shrugged it off.

And he knew nothing of her fascination with Ancient Egyptian history. At least, she thought he didn't. It was odd, to now realize that she knew his smallest most subtle habits, like when he was thinking hard enough, he would reach up and squeeze his bottom lip between his pointer finger and thumb, or when he would be clinging to her after they made love and he would shiver lightly at the sensation of it all (she loved that one, even now). But she didn't know anything about his childhood, his past.

She had never shown an interest in it. And she felt a dull thud of pain in her chest. It was awful.

"Am I the one?" His voice drifted softly into her ears, almost like smoke. The question had caught her off guard, not just because of the thought she was in the middle of, but because he was never so straightforward. He always beat around the bush, almost to the point of frustration.

Reaching up and taking an escaped lock of hair between her forefinger and thumb, she diverted her gaze. Was he the one?

Yes. She was sure of it. She knew he was even before this whole thing. But she had been foolish. When you had a man like Will Turner, you didn't question. You thanked God for providing you with an imperfect, but wonderful man, a man with whom you would have no qualms about spending eternity with.

Didn't this whole thing have an underlying symbol or theme? Out of the hundreds of letters to read, he read hers.

His eyes were now looking straight into hers and it sent chills through her. He was waiting. And he was worried. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Yes, Will." She felt the throbbing in her chest begin to subside. "You are. You _have_ to be."

He didn't care anymore. Not about anything but the way her eyes sparkled when she said those words. True, this situation was not so easily mended. Even now, they had not solved the issue. But he knew, absolutely knew, that no matter how long it took them to get over the advertisement in the Exeter paper, they would be together.

Will reached around her and pulled her against him, holding her the way he had wanted to this morning, holding her the way he had just a few minutes ago when she tried to explain herself. And now he felt that things would be alright now.

He pulled back slightly. "Perhaps for awhile we should move back into our perspective flats?" He waited for her reaction, honestly unsure as to how she would take his suggestion. His face folded into a wince.

She merely let out an amused huff. "I know it's impossible to tire of me," she teased. "…but I'm sure I have pushed your limits these past months, more than probably either of us know. I'll stay in London with my dad maybe, for a little while."

Will jumped slightly. "No! I don't mean move back to London!"

She laughed at the expression of worry on his face. Even after all they had been through, he needed her near. And she him. "I need to know that I can, Will. We can't depend so fully on one another. That's how we got so far into this strop."

He nodded, slumping back against the bench, his features sagging in disappointment. "I suppose you're right. Maybe it _is_ possible to be _too_ much in love with someone."

With a shrug, she smiled. "All I know is that I love you. Maybe we should start all this over. Like we just met."

"Can we still have sex?"

"Will!"

He laughed, seeing her shocked, but highly amused features. She swung at him and hit his arm with a stinging slap.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He held up his hands in defense, still chuckling. He lowered his hands from beside his head and wrapped them around her wrists, pulling her towards him. He held her torso to his and watched as her eyelids fluttered. He pressed his nose against hers, their lips only centimeters apart.

"My name is Elizabeth Swann," she breathed. Their lips touched softly.

"Will Turner." He said it quickly, kissing her again. But she pulled her lips from his, her eyes still shut. When she opened them, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I enjoy reading about Ancient Egypt and its culture in my free time…"

"You do?" Will raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

"Sh." She pecked him on the lips. "And I secretly read the trashy romance novels that you make fun of all the time."

With that one, a smirk started on his features. "Really?"

"Mmm," she moaned, kissing him again, her tongue getting into the mix. As she pulled away again, leaving her partner quite miffed, she added, "And I wish I knew how to roller skate dance like they did in the seventies…"

"Me too," he said, receiving another slap on his arm. "Hey!" He laughed again. His lips moved down to her neck. When she was silent for more than thirty seconds, Will realized he had some things to tell _her_.

"I miss my mother more than anything when it rains." Elizabeth stopped her teasing lips upon his ear. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked up into his eyes. She couldn't say anything. Her throat constricted when she saw the pain in his face. It disappeared a moment later as he smiled softly. "And the best moment of my life was during that first night we made love, after we were through, and you reached up and touched my face."

Her nostrils flared as she felt the tears begin to form. "This isn't fair. I was giving you small details about my life and you're pulling out these highly personal, emotional things."

"These are things you need to know," he said with a small chuckle, his right hand tracing a pattern on her back, the other squeezing her hip. "I also want you to know…"

"No," she sniffled. "No more." She giggled, pushing her face into his coat lapels before pulling back to give him her undivided attention.

"One more, love. I promise." He waited for her nod, then proceeded. "I took salsa dancing lessons for five years."

With that, Elizabeth and Will both broke out into loud guffaws, leaning against each other in the haunting lamplight of the park, their arms around each other, their bodies numb with the cold.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth breathed finally, after another minute of standing in silence, embracing. "I shouldn't have put that letter in the paper. Or my email address."

"And I shouldn't have answered it. I suppose we're both at fault here. Equally." He reached up to nudge her chin with his pointer finger, earning a wide, closed-mouth smile from his beloved. "And by the way, what was this _chineseorchid519_?"

She met his smirk with a glare. "I love the Chinese orchid. It's my favorite flower. And '519' stands for my name. 'E' is the fifth letter in the alphabet and 'S' is the nineteenth. It's only logical…and besides, yours was about pens or something… _boogie nights 13_! That was it!" She giggled as he flushed red.

He swallowed and looked away. "Oh come on. I had to sign up for an account to get on this internet site and I was listening to 'Boogie Nights' by Heatwave, so I put it down. And the last number I had written was thirteen. So…don't judge me."

She smoothed the chest of his coat with her hands. "Well, I thought it was cute, in a geeky sort of way." Her small smile leaked off of her features as she played with the button on his coat, still looking down, a small frown on her face.

"Will, I have to go to London for a bit. To give us each some space. You understand, don't you?" She set a hand to his jaw, imploring him with her dark brown gaze as she looked up again.

"I do," he said with utmost sincerity. "I will wait for you return most eagerly."

She took his hand and they walked along the cobblestones, back into the street where they would make the journey to her apartment.

An hour later, they stood together at Elizabeth's apartment door, both peering down the hallway for anybody who might be spying. "So you're going tomorrow?" Will asked.

"Yes. And when I return, we'll start anew."

He grinned, then wrapped his arms tightly around her, inhaling the scent of her neck and hair deeply. "I'll miss you," he breathed, his lips against her soft, cold skin.

"I'll miss you too." She pulled back and stepped further into her Exeter home. "And don't go answer anymore of those advertisements in the paper while I'm in London." She smirked coyly as she backed even further from him.

Will put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head innocently. "Of course not."

"Good." Elizabeth paused only for a moment. "I love you, Will."

"I love you, too."

He began to back down the hallway. "Oh, and when you get back, I'm making waffles!"

Elizabeth laughed as she shut the door. Shutting her eyes and replaying the events in her head, she had to sigh. Inwardly, she thanked herself for being so terribly fickle, for if she had not put that ad in the newspaper, perhaps their relationship would have deteriorated beyond repair. Thank God they would never let that happen again.

She looked forward to her couple days back in London. She _was_ a city girl after all. But more than that, she looked forward to the rest of her life. With Will Turner.

In the silence of the apartment, she began to hear the pitter patter of rain on the roof. She hoped Will didn't get caught in it on his way home. But then again, he liked getting caught in the rain.

Realizing she hadn't had anything to eat yet, she went to her mini bar and fixed herself a piña colada.

* * *

(A/N): Ah, so. Why have I put out this one shot instead of the stories I haven't updated in forever and a camel's spit?

WELL, I say it's madness! MADNESS!

No, actually, I got these one shot ideas and jotted them down. The inspiration hit me. And I drilled away. So I apologize to anyone who has been waiting forevs and shiz for London Calling and Diamond Murderer. But the latter should be posted soon! I'm having it beta'd and I'll post it right after! I promise!

Thanks so much! Leave a review and lemme know!

Peace, kiddos!

-williz


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